The Corner of First and Amistad
by Initial A
Summary: A tragedy five years ago led Henry to invite Emma in on Operation Mongoose. Finding the author proves difficult, but not nearly as difficult as the choices he presents them with. Spoilers for episode 4x08. Multi-ship, ensemble cast. AU-canon divergence and alternate timelines presented in the Enchanted Forest. Angst with eventual happy ending.
1. The Fall

The rain made the new house chilly; she loved this little house by the sea, but it was definitely a bit of a fixer-upper. So when Killian tried to get up to get ready for the day, Emma protested with every skill she possessed. She lay on top of him at one point, pinning him to the mattress, declaring that she couldn't be warm without him to share body heat. He'd smiled. "You know, love, I can very easily just," he grunted, and flipped them, "change this up, and make life very difficult for you."

"Please," Emma rolled her eyes.

"Well, if you're asking, darling…"

She managed to keep him in bed for one more, very enjoyable, hour, before he insisted that he really did have to go and attend to a few things. Killian kissed her forehead. "I'll see you later, love," he murmured against her skin.

Emma reached out from under the covers to grab his hand before he left. "Love you…" she mumbled.

There was a sound like a little laugh. "I love you, Swan."

He squeezed her hand and let it go. His footsteps retreated, leaving only the sound of the rain on the roof. Then, two small impacts at the foot of the bed told her that Killian's cats, Si and Am (seriously) were going to take up his space. It was as perfect a rainy morning as it could be without her pirate. Emma readjusted under the covers, determined to doze for another hour or so under the warm covers. She smiled, breathing in the scent he'd left on the pillow.

* * *

Half of the sheriff's station had been converted into a magical study. Elsa was desperate to get home to her sister, to see what had happened to Arendelle in her absence. With the portals closed and magic beans extremely hard to come by, Regina had offered up her books. The two witches were often seen with their heads bent over books, experimenting with their magical styles. Occasionally, and much to Emma's surprise, Henry would show up to help with research. Emma helped when she could, but with Ingrid gone, she was back to her beat as sheriff, and work had been piling up.

Killian had discovered a magical means to defeating Ingrid a few weeks before. There had been a magical hat, one that absorbed a magic-user within it if left tilted. Emma had questioned him on where he'd found it, but he merely said that he'd picked it up the night she'd almost given up her magic. It had been in the abandoned manor, it appeared to be a valuable object, and it was hard to shake his pirate ways. What had been stranger still was that Elsa knew about the hat. She said it was a dangerous magical object, one that her sister had stolen from an evil sorcerer, and that the sooner they got rid of it, the better.

Killian had promised to dispose of it, and Emma hadn't seen hide or hair of it since. The effects of the magical hat had been bothering the back of her head for a while; why had they seemed so familiar? She was sure she'd never seen such a thing. Golden light, a vacuum of sound… The phone rang, startling Emma from her thoughts. "Sheriff's station," she answered automatically. She frowned. "Another one? Okay, give me details…"

Missing person reports were coming in at an alarming rate. In the last two months, seven people had vanished without a trace. Emma had a hunch that, with the ice wall gone, some of them had left—and she didn't blame them. Things got rough in Storybrooke. People had died. But others… A lot of calls insisted they'd never leave, not without telling someone first. So far, two of the nuns and Tinkerbelle were missing, as were two old women named Irma and Margo, and two brothers named Byrun and Bog. This call would bring the total to eight, a man named Arron.

Emma stormed out of her office and to the large map of Storybrooke she'd pinned to the wall after the third missing persons report. She put up another pin and some basic information in the last known location of Arron, and stepped back, trying to see if there was any kind of pattern. She felt David approach. "Another one?" He asked.

"Yeah… It's so frustrating, I can't… I can't see how these would all be connected, but they have to be. This isn't a coincidence, Dad."

They both crossed their arms, leaning against his desk, almost in perfect sync. If she had been less frustrated, she would have smiled: they were astoundingly alike, giving major points to nature over nurture. David pointed. "Look. Five of the victims lived outside of central town, right?"

"Yeah, but the fairies lived at the convent."

"Maybe they found it constricting."

Emma glanced over at him. "You're suggesting they all just left, without a word? Irma and Margo, maybe, but the brothers had family. The fairies should have been in touch with the Mother Superior. And this new guy's wife is practically hysterical with worry."

David sighed. "Just throwing out ideas. What about connections, how are they all alike?"

She stepped up to the map, contemplating over each bit of information she'd put up. "Nothing… I mean, a lot of them are older, so maybe they wanted to see some of the world outside of Storybrooke… wait…"

The last curse had created census books, they'd combed through them trying to see if Anna had ever been in Storybrooke. The books not only had a list of their Earth names, but their Enchanted Forest counterparts. Regina had added that bit in the first curse to make sure everyone was supposed to be where she wanted them. Maybe the clue was in the books… "Elsa?" Emma raised her voice. "Where did we put the census books?"

"In the storage closet down the hall," Elsa responded, her brow knit in concern. "What's wrong?"

"Might have a breakthrough on the case," she said, and hurried down the hall, David a step behind.

They carried the stacks into the main office, and Emma wrote down each name as they found them. Elsa aside, the internet was useful in providing facts about fairytale characters she was unfamiliar with (though apparently there was a movie coming out about Elsa and her sister in a few months, and Emma was torn about taking her to see it; purely for research, of course, not at all for her own amusement) The results came quickly. Yzma. Mim. Chernobog. Belabog. Arawn. She knew the nuns were fairies already, but now she knew that all eight missing persons were also magic-users of some kind. "Magic," she breathed. "Magic-users are disappearing…"

Her stomach felt like the bottom was being sucked out. Like a vacuum… David must have seen something on her face. "Emma?"

Her cell phone rang. It was Belle. _"Emma, I need you to come pick me up."_

"Belle, this isn't a great time…" Emma felt lightheaded. The image of Killian overturning a magical hat wouldn't leave her head. But _why_? _Why_ would he…

Belle wouldn't hear of it. She sounded frantic. _"Emma, it's an emergency, and we need to go. Something's wrong with Rumple, and I saw Hook…"_

Her heart sank. "Where are you?"

_"I'm at the shop."_

"I'll be there in two minutes."

* * *

Emma was tensely silent as she followed Belle's directions. Killian wouldn't, he _couldn't_ be the person behind the disappearances. Her gut told her he wasn't in the wrong. She trusted him, he was there for her at every turn, and he'd promised her he was a changed man… But the magical hat… magic-users disappearing… a long-standing grudge against Gold, the most powerful sorcerer in town… How had he even known about it, what it could do?

A note, half-hidden on her desk under a pile of papers, surfaced in her mind: a John Doe, reported missing almost four months ago. His neighbors hadn't known his name, or who he had been in the Enchanted Forest, just that he had been a kindly old man often seen puttering around in his garden. Until the day he wasn't. Normally, she would have been more on top of it, but it had been called in when the battle against Ingrid had been heating up, not long after her first date with Killian… the night he'd started acting a little oddly…

Her hands gripped the steering wheel harder and she shifted into a higher gear. Belle's gasp at the speed went ignored as Emma recognized the path they were heading to: the manor where she'd almost given up her magic, where Killian had found the hat.

At the gates, Emma slammed on the brakes and threw the Bug into park. She and Belle hurried out of the car and up the path. The door was unlocked, which made things a hell of a lot easier to sneak in. Emma swallowed hard, and drew her gun as they entered. She really, really didn't want to have to use it, but she also really, really didn't like where her thought train was going… No. He wouldn't do that to her. He'd _promised_.

There were voices not far away, male. Emma held her fingers to her lips. "I need you to stay here," she whispered to Belle.

"What?" Belle cried, and Emma shushed her impatiently. She dropped her voice. "No, no, of course not, I want to help!"

Emma didn't want to tell her that this might end in a way she didn't want to see. Someone was going to get hurt, physically or magically or both. She also knew that if it were her, she would have ignored all orders to stay behind. "It might get ugly," she said. As Belle opened her mouth to argue, Emma rushed on, "But give me five minutes to try to talk them down. If we don't come out, then you can try."

"Okay," Belle nodded, lips pursed in frustration.

Emma took a deep breath to try and calm her racing heart, and crept down the hall. A floorboard creaking behind her said Belle was moving into position to watch her back, and see where she was going. The voices grew louder. Gold's voice was calm, but Killian's was growing more frantic. Emma frowned. She listened for a moment, Gold's calm cadence revealing nothing but control of the situation. Unless they were really good actors, her earlier suspicions were vanishing, and she felt nothing but relief—which was quickly replaced by guilt for even suspecting Killian, but then there were too many questions about what… She ground her teeth together, shutting her thoughts up, and kicked the door down, gun raised and ready.

Killian whirled. "Swan, no—"

He cried out, stumbling and Emma glanced from him to Gold. Gold held a glowing red object in his hand—a heart.

Killian's heart.

Emma's blood ran cold. She raised her gun to her eye line, dropping into shooting position. "Drop it, Gold, if you know what's good for you."

"Miss Swan," Gold was no more rattled than usual. "The captain here assured me he hadn't warned you of any of his ongoing… activities."

"He didn't have to; I put the pieces together this morning. The only thing that didn't fit was him. But this? This makes a lot of those make more sense," Emma challenged. "All those missing people, the magic-users? You were behind it somehow, making Killian do your dirty work?"

He chuckled. "Right as usual, Emma, but don't think your dearest is innocent in all of this."

"Emma, just… go—" Killian cut himself off with another scream as Gold tightened his grip on his heart; he fell to his knees, and Emma took an involuntary step towards him.

She tried to talk Gold down. "What'd he do this time, break one of your toys? Steal a baseball card?"

"Threatened my marriage," Gold's voice hardened.

Emma threw him an incredulous look. "How would he do that?"

"That, dearie, is between the captain and myself. However, I'm afraid his usefulness has run its course. He has but one last use to me," Gold sneered, and raised Killian's heart.

Emma shouted, running to Killian as he fell sideways. His hand went to her hair, gripping loosely; his mouth formed words, but the blood was roaring in her ears and she couldn't hear them, couldn't read what he was trying to say, the word "no" running on repeat in her mind, maybe out loud. "_Rumple, stop!_" Belle's shrill scream carried across the room.

Emma didn't need to see what happened, because the light was fading from Killian's eyes as he went still in her arms, his breath leaving in a final gust from his body. She knew he was dead when his hand fell from her hair.

* * *

**This fic will have multiple chapters. It is complete, and I will be posting the rest as edits are completed. Reviews are always encouraged.**


	2. The Author

This did not edit properly into the first chapter, but thank you to** in-spirational** for beta'ing for me!

* * *

Five years.

Five years of the Dark One, cleaved from his dagger yet retaining his powers. Two of those years, Emma had been able to do nothing. She had been tied to Storybrooke, mostly when he put another spell on the town line. Anyone who crossed it… well, Emma tried not to think about what had happened to Bo Peep and the three Schwein brothers. It had been bad enough to clean up after, easy as it had been with how few body parts had remained to be collected.

Belle had managed to get across the line, apparently the only one allowed to come and go as she pleased, to try and reason with Rumpelstiltskin after the Schwein brothers. He hadn't understood why she wasn't content to live with him like this, and in his rage he'd cast a spell that revived all of Storybrooke's dead.

It had been a painful week, trying to destroy dead loved ones—Emma's more numerous than others—only to have them reform hours later. Henry had found the counter-curse in one of Regina's spell books, and it had taken all of Emma and Regina's strength to cast it.

After that, Henry brought Emma into Operation Mongoose.

It had taken five years to find the author of the book, the person who had started all of this horror, this tragedy in all of their lives. After Rumpelstiltskin had discovered their plans, he'd thrown just about everything he could in their path to stop them from discovering the source of all of their problems. She'd faced dragons, demons, witches, pain beyond all imagining... but all of this had culminated to this moment. Seven of them stood outside of an unassuming house. Dark clouds coated the skies, as they had for months now. Henry, a full head taller she was these days, put a comforting arm around her. "Are you okay?" He asked; it still surprised her how deep his voice was, how much he sounded like Neal.

Killian's rings were cold on the chain she wore them on around her neck. Chicago winters were no joke. Emma's eyes stung. She wasn't sure if it was because of the wind, or the surge of emotion she was feeling. Five years… so much heartbreak, so much anger, so many lives lost to get to this point… Her hand immediately went to the largest ring, the garnet incased in silver. "Fine, kid," she muttered. "I'm fine. Let's get this over with."

Regina took the lead, marching up the porch and ringing the bell, Robin just behind her. Mary Margaret clasped Emma's hand in hers. David gave an encouraging nod, and offered an arm to Belle, who was hugging herself tight. They marched up the stairs to stand behind Regina and Robin.

A shadow appeared behind the door. A long pause elapsed between the shadow's appearance and when the door opened. "So… you have found me at long last."

His voice was deep. Emma supposed it would, under other circumstances, be considered calm and reassuring. When she remembered all that he had caused, his abandonment of his creations when chaos hit, the voice could only be foreboding. The calm before the storm: how fitting. He stepped back, sweeping his hand back and inviting them in.

Regina looked back, checking with them. Emma nodded once. They moved as a group, entering the warmth of the house; it was an open room, richly decorated with dark oak beams, a fire crackling merrily in the large stone fireplace. Mirrors, vases, trinkets reminiscent of the fairy tales Emma knew so well by now littered the walls, shelves, and tabletops. "Sit, please," the author gestured to the many plush chairs and couch.

Emma, Henry, and her parents sat on the couch; Mary Margaret and Henry hadn't let go of Emma's hands. Belle perched on a less plush chair; Robin stood behind Regina as she sat. The author sat nearest the fire, the flames throwing his face in sharp relief.

His face was ovular, a wide forehead over sharp, intelligent eyes. His nose was strong, rounded at the end, his lips thin but the smile was kindly, mischievous. His beard was gray, as thin as his graying brown hair. There was something familiar about the way he looked, but Emma was too tense to focus on matching a face to a name. "My name is Yen Sid," he told them. "Your journey has been long."

"I suppose you'd know about that," Emma found her voice.

His eyes appeared black in the firelight. "My dear Emma," he said softly. "My finest creation…"

Rage burned in her heart. Mary Margaret squeezed her hand hard; Henry knew better and moved his hand to her arm. "You dare say that to me," Emma whispered. "You dare suggest that _anything_ I am is because of you."

Yen Sid sat back. "I deserve that," he said. "I gave you a hard path to walk, Emma. And look at what you have become… beyond my wildest dreams, you have grown into a marvelous woman, a true Savior."

"You gave me _nothing_," Emma spat, shaking as her control on her temper slipped.

"Emma…" Mary Margaret said softly.

She ignored her mother. Though it was winter, thunder rolled in the distance. "No, I'm wrong. You did give me something, all of us something. You gave me _away_, gave _all_ of us away. You conjured up something horrific, and walked away. Why? Were you bored with us? Were you tired? Did you have others to screw over?"

The author remained silent. Regina spoke up. "All of us here have been… wronged, in some way. And it took us a long time to mend some of those bridges," she said, looking at Mary Margaret, who smiled. "And a long time for some of us to erase what had happened in the past."

Robin's hand was on her shoulder; she covered it with her own. Yen Sid spoke, "Much of that was your own free will to choose, you know. Many of the choices you made were your own."

"I know that… now. But your rules were still in place, even after you let us go."

"My rules?"

Belle was quiet. "Villains don't get happy endings."

The author clasped his hands over his stomach. "You have been given a hard path to walk as well, Belle."

"You don't have to tell me something I already know," she said; thunder boomed again, emphasizing her words.

"He has been… particularly difficult of late."

"You aren't in control of us here," David said. "We're real people; we're not just puppets in a book."

"If you really thought that, you would not be here," Yen Sid told him. He raised his chin. "What is it you wish from me?"

"Answers," Emma spat.

Mary Margaret rubbed her back, trying to soothe her. "We've been through so much," she said, not looking at Yen Sid, but her daughter. "All we want to know is why. Why us? Why leave us as you did? Why cause so much pain?"

Emma took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself. Her free hand went to Killian's rings, gripping them tight, imprints denting her skin. Yen Sid regarded them coolly, head tilted slightly. "I admit to some surprise, Emma, that your daughter is not here. You are meticulous about her safety and never letting her far from your sight."

"You don't get to talk about her," Emma said, her temper flaring up again. The few lights around the room flickered, and the windows rattled—though perhaps it was from the coming storm; Regina shot a concerned gaze her way. It had been a long time since her magic had come out of her control. "Her, or—"

"Captain Jones," the author murmured.

The fire roared high into the chimney and went out, plunging the room into semi-darkness. Lightning flashed, throwing Yen Sid getting out of his chair into sharp relief, and then he went to fiddle with the fireplace. Emma was grateful that the darkness hid the tears that slipped out. She _missed_ him: awakening in the night reaching for a ghost that wasn't there, trying to fill her life with the joy in her children and family but desperately unable to completely fill up the gap he'd left inside of her, repair walls he'd torn down with a hook and a roguish smile. Even his stupid _cats_, the ones she'd been so against adopting…

_That pout was ridiculous, and the way he made his eyes so huge and pleading (and he wasn't even related to Henry or Mary Margaret, how did he look so like them?) as he held Si out like she was Simba almost made Emma want to cave in. Almost. "Look, Swan, she's practically begging us to take her home."_

_Si hissed at her. Emma raised an eyebrow. "Do we __**really**__ have time for a cat, Killian? With all the time we spend at home doing nothing?"_

_"Well…" He cradled Si to his chest and turned on the spot, looking around the cat room at the shelter. He crossed the room in two strides, lifting up an identical Siamese cat. He looked absurd, two frankly evil-looking cats snuggled against his chest, the look he gave her suggesting that saying no would cancel Christmas. "That's why we take her sister home too."_

The sight of them had hurt for months after, but she knew whatever was left of him out there would never have forgiven her for giving them away.

She'd fallen deep into herself, for a few days after Gold had crushed his heart. Shell-shocked. Henry had gotten her moving again, just as he had before when Graham had died, but Graham hadn't been as large of a part of her life as Killian had been. He could have been, but there hadn't been time… But Henry was there. Henry got her going again, concocted new operations for them to take on while they tried to figure out what Rumpelstiltskin had done to the town.

When she discovered she was pregnant, it set off more emotions, both good and bad. And now, part of Killian lived again, in their little girl with waves of black hair and his eyes, the same shape and color, and her mother's chin; the little girl who screamed and cried when it was time to leave the beach, whose favorite animal was a frog and chased her father's cats all over the house, and loved _Peter Pan_ and _Hook_ because "Dada" was in them.

Five years since Rumpelstiltskin had ripped out his heart, pulping it, gaining his freedom in exchange for the life of another, and it hurt like it had happened yesterday. He had been the second man to die in her arms from a crushed heart and the second man to leave her alone with child. Though, she hadn't been _completely_ alone this time. Henry had been thrilled for another sibling, and had been her rock through it all. Emma had raised her daughter surrounded by a doting big brother, an uncle more like a cousin, and grandparents who adored her, not to mention dozens of adopted aunts and uncles. The world had not known a more loved four-year old than Elizabeth Kaelyn Swan.

Henry hugged her around the shoulders. "Why don't villains get happy endings?" He asked Yen Sid.

A tiny flame sparked in the fireplace. He bent over it for a time, waiting for the flame to grow. He nurtured it, allowing it to devour the kindling before throwing larger sticks on, and finally logs. "To write a story is like building a fire," Yen Sid said, getting to his feet with a grunt. "A spark is all it needs to start. Unchecked, it can run free, devouring all in its path." He turned, nodding to Belle, who frowned thoughtfully. "But if you give it careful attention, feeding it a little at a time, monitoring how much it can handle… Fire can be deadly, in the wrong hands. But in the hands of one who respects its power, fears it, but knows how to manage it, it can burn magnificently."

He began to pace. "Your questions are philosophical ones, my children. Why should anyone deserve a happy ending? What is, at its very core, a happy ending? Who and what are the villains and the heroes?"

Emma's head started to hurt. No one said anything for a while, the only sound being Yen Sid's shoes on the hearthstones and the wind on the windows, until Robin finally said, "Why would anyone not deserve to be happy? What kind of person condemns someone else to a life of misery? It's all well and good to pretend this is a debate for scholars, but this is our _lives_."

"And it isn't mine?" Yen Sid asked, stopping.

Robin looked taken aback. Yen Sid continued, "For one to have a happy ending, oftentimes another's must be taken away. And they aren't easy, not the way everyone wants them to be. They take work, hard work, on the part of the individual, and then—"

"No," Regina said.

"No?"

She pursed her lips for a moment. "I used to think that way. When you were in charge of my life. To have my happy ending, I had to take away Snow White's. I had to destroy her. But I didn't. I realized, when I was here, that I was fighting for a happy ending that was already dead and gone. Daniel was my first chance at love, but I had another. And I almost gave up on it with Robin, but even if I had? I would have found another. Because you don't ever have one chance at a happy ending. How incredibly sad it would be for us if we did."

Yen Sid's smile was wide. "You have grown too, Regina."

"I… had a lot of help."

"I had been pushing that on you," he told her, "for so long, and for so long you were resisting. Your heart was broken, and you knew of only one path to fix it. The curses have been good to you, my child."

"Good?" Mary Margaret looked at the author for the first time, her voice cracking. "Good for Regina, but the rest of us?"

"What is it that the boy likes to say?" Yen Sid asked, nodding to Henry.

Henry frowned. "Good always wins?"

"Goodness comes in many forms," he confirmed, nodding. "A person. An idea. A path to growth."

"So Regina gets character development and the rest of us get shafted," Emma muttered.

Her head lifted of its own accord. Her eyes widened when she saw pale magic, like mist and sparkling like twilight, shimmering around his hand. "You say this as if you have not changed in the last seven years, Emma. You, who were so afraid of letting anyone else in after being sent to this world and abandoned by Pinocchio, after Baelfire let his fear take over and caused him to leave you, were cold and unloving until your son appeared to you. He taught you to open yourself to love. Your parents, though they made mistakes as all parents do, opened that door further. Killian Jones showed you how to love without fear. Elsa gave you the power to love yourself. Your daughter gave you a second chance at familial, maternal love.

"You are very much not the same person you were when you arrived in Storybrooke seven years ago. You have been beaten. Your heart has been broken. But you have succeeded. In the end, you have always succeeded. Again and again, your success makes you grow. Your emotional heart, the heart you had locked away for so long, blinds you to this success, but it is there."

"But what does it matter if we can't stop Rumpelstiltskin?" Emma asked quietly.

Yen Sid sat with a sigh. The magic faded, and Emma relaxed. "And we come to the heart of the matter."

"You may have had your reasons for what you did to us, and you can even keep them to yourself. Fine. But you had no right to unleash that onto this world," David said grimly.

Lightning flashed again outside. "He won't listen to anyone," Belle said. "I tried to reason with him. But he's…"

"His addiction to magic has always been a problem," Yen Sid said. "He believes himself weak without it, but he is weaker with it. His father was the same. An addict is an addict.

"What would you have me do?"

Emma glimpsed at her mother. No one seemed sure what to say. She fingered Killian's rings again, the smooth stones warmer now. Yen Sid smiled ruefully. "My power, vast as it is, does have its limits. More so when Rumpelstiltskin remains in possession of my hat."

"Can you change him?" Henry asked.

"Change the Dark One?"

He shrugged. "If you made him…"

Yen Sid's voice was somber. "Rumpelstiltskin is at the center of everything. To change him… Many things, _many_ things, would be vastly different."

"How?" Emma asked.

There was more lightning, and a louder crash of thunder. Yen Sid raised his hand; the twilight magic appeared in his palm. The magic surrounded her, swallowing her like the black hole in the middle of galaxy, and the author's living room faded away.


	3. The Sands of Time

Killian stopped his brother before he could get on the ship. The knowledge that he carried was too large of a burden to bear, and he feared that the boy on the island's words would cause him far more grief than he could live through. "Brother, I fear I was not truthful about the cure that saved your life."

Liam frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You… that is to say…" Hot shame filled him. It was one thing to die of poisoning, but a cursed death was far worse, and he was to blame for his brother's fate. "The cure is tied to this land. To Neverland. And I fear that when we leave, when we touch down on our home waters… I fear you will die regardless."

Liam was silent; the only sound to be heard was the waves lapping at the hull of the _Jewel_, and the faint voices of the crew high above them. "And to stay here means my survival?"

"…yes, brother," Killian couldn't meet his eyes.

More silence, and then Liam clapped him on the shoulder. "Little brother… _younger_ brother, I am glad you told me. While it may not be, in your words, good form to fail to return to our homeland and reveal our findings, it may be best if we remain here and allow them to believe we failed in our mission."

"We're… we're staying here? In Neverland?" Killian asked.

"Aye, brother, until we can find a cure, which surely exists. When it is found, then we can return home," Liam smiled again, and squeezed Killian's shoulder. "I trust you'll order the crew not to prepare to sail home, Lieutenant Jones."

Killian was overcome with the urge to hug him, bad form or no. "Aye, Captain Jones."

* * *

In the years since Milah had died from the sweating sickness that had roared through their village, Rumpelstiltskin had grown more and more afraid of his only son being taken away for the Ogre Wars. His fourteenth birthday was only days away, and he did the only thing he could: slayed the previous Dark One and assumed his powers.

This had only driven his beloved son further from him. Even after he'd put a stop to the Ogre Wars for good, Bae wanted nothing from him but love without power, and to have friends without their fear of him. When presented with a magical bean that would take them both to a land without magic, Rumple hesitated. Bae was falling into the portal, away from him, and Rumple clung to the root, afraid, afraid, afraid …

But a life without his son wasn't a life worth living.

Rumpelstiltskin let go of the root, and followed his son down the portal, to a land without magic. The curse of the Dark One vanished from the world with him.

Together, they scraped a meager living, peddling goods on the streets of London until they could afford a shop of their own, refurbishing unwanted goods and selling them like new. And when a young woman named Belle fell into the land without magic from their world, using a magic bean to escape her caged life of luxury, they took her in.

Rumple and Belle were married within the year.

* * *

Cora's determination to make a better life for herself knew no boundaries. Yes, she had given up a child for this chance, but she wasn't going to squander it. She had seen the wretched Princess Eva in the courtyard while delivering the flour; her heart still burned from the dismissal from the court of Prince Leopold the year previously. Avoiding her had been easy. Stealing the dress she wore had been easier.

Lying about who she was had been as simple as breathing.

Married to Prince Henry, she bore him a daughter. Regina.

* * *

Her mother was unbearable. She thought that dismissing Daniel had been the cruelest of blows, but sending him away in the middle of the night under armed escorts? Regina could hardly bear the pain.

So she ran away.

Her original plan had been to find Daniel, to try again, but instead she met a fairy, Tinkerbelle, who said she had a better plan. "We'll find your true love, no worries," she said with a wink.

Tinkerbelle stole some pixie dust. When Regina had fretted about her getting in trouble from the Blue Fairy, the fairy waved her off, insisting it was for a true and just cause. Using it, they followed the light to a tavern. Tinkerbelle, bouncing on the balls of her feet, looked in the windows first. "He's there!" She whispered excitedly. "At the bar, with the tattoo on his arm!"

Regina checked. "Daniel doesn't have a tattoo…"

"This means Daniel isn't your true love, Regina."

Regina was heartbroken. "But I love him…"

Tinkerbelle spun her around, face to face. "Regina. There is love, and then there is _love_. I'm offering you a chance at love, _real_ love. This is the forever kind. If you walk through that door… Your life will change forever."

Regina's heart pounded. "Are you certain this is right?"

Tinkerbelle smiled, cupping her friend's cheek. "I'm positive. Now, go and get him."

Regina squared her shoulders, shoved her fear into the furthest corner of her mind and entered the tavern. There was a light over the man who was supposedly her true love, and conveniently, a free space next to him. She sidled in, feeling a bit awkward. "Hi," she said.

The man glanced up, and Regina flushed. Light brown hair swooped over his brow, and he was starting to grow a beard. "Hello," he said, sounding taken aback.

Regina grinned nervously. The man grinned in return. They started talking. His name was Robin of Locksley, and he happened to be no longer "of Locksley", but of the forest. A bandit. "What does it take to be a bandit?" Regina wanted to know.

"Oh, not much, really. A little loose regard for the law, of course, but mostly a good sense of fun and willingness to sleep outdoors. Why, are you going to be picking up banditry?" Robin asked.

She shrugged, and, feeling emboldened, grabbed his tankard and took a long drink. "As of the other day, I no longer have a place to call home. I'm looking for a new way of life, a new start. A young woman must have _something_ to do with her life, wouldn't you agree?"

Robin smiled, slowly. "I do indeed. And, as it happens, we could use a lady such as yourself. Ever so helpful in staging sieges on caravans, you see, to have a lady swoon in the road and demand attention that draws the eye away from valuables."

Regina, it turned out, happened to be quite a talented bandit. And Robin was quite a talented kisser.

* * *

When Snow White was twelve years old, a snake startled her horse.

She wasn't strong enough to bring him around, and he bolted. She screamed for help, but her father's knights weren't quick enough, their horses weighed down by the armor, and they fell behind. Snow could only scream and hold on for dear life as the forest gave way to the rolling fields, praying to all the gods that she didn't fall, that Cinnamon would tire and stop quickly.

She had insisted on going riding, trying to escape the somber mood that had fallen over the palace in the months since her mother's death. She missed her mother desperately, yes, but the official mourning was suffocating. She just wished to be left in peace with her thoughts, not fussed over or eyed pityingly. A quiet, contemplative ride through the Royal Forest was supposed to be just the trick to help her. But now there were sheep ahead. Would Cinnamon jump them? Barrel through them? Trip over one and throw her from his back? Snow squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to witness the end, but there was a voice over the sound of thundering hooves, and her horse was skidding to a stop, rearing. Snow threw her hands around his neck, tangling her fingers in his mane, and a boy's voice shouted, "Let go! I'll catch you!"

She did, and fell on top of a shepherd boy.

Snow didn't want to move, her eyes still shut tightly, even though somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she'd probably hurt the boy when she landed on him, but he just felt so _safe_. She heard Cinnamon trot away, making noises of horse distress, and then the boy said, "Are you hurt, miss?"

She shook her head tightly, still clinging to him. A moment passed, and then he awkwardly patted her back. That brought her out of the fear-trance she'd slipped into. Snow carefully got up. "Thank you very much for saving my life," she said, trying to sit properly, with her hands folded neatly in her lap. "I'm sorry if I hurt you."

The boy was probably a year or two older than she, with sun-streaked brown hair that hung past his ears; he watched her with an expression of bemusement. "It's no matter. Your safety is what truly counts, miss. Are you sure you are unharmed?"

Snow smiled for what felt like the first time in years. Something about the unsure way he spoke, like an actor who hadn't been rehearsing for a performance, was comforting. She suspected he'd noticed her clothing was not typical for a peasant, and was attempting to be proper for her sake. "I'm certain. Who do I have the honor of thanking?"

The boy's cheeks were pink. "My name is David, miss."

"Just David?"

"We are simple shepherds, miss, not important enough for titles."

"I see," she said, and then heard her name being called in the distance. She turned her head to listen. "Oh, that must be…"

The sound of many hooves on packed earth came before her father and the squad of knights that accompanied him. Snow looked back at David, who had gone very pale under his tan, and smiled brightly. "Do not be afraid, David. My father, the king, will be grateful for what you have done for me today."

King Leopold's favor brought David's family's farm much-needed prosperity and peace from the district warlord. As the years went on, Snow White was often seen sneaking out of the palace and riding to the forest to meet with David. She heard the tales of his twin brother's kidnapping and his father's demise, learned to card and spin wool from his mother, Ruth, (though she never quite got the hang of weaving), and how to sling rocks at wolves to keep them from the flock. She became quite a good shepherd, for a princess, but a princess she remained.

When talks began to arrange her marriage, Snow pleaded with the Blue Fairy to intervene. If she was to marry a lesser man—as the crown princess of her own realm, she could not marry a highborn prince unless it was to merge their kingdoms, and those were in short supply—then let her marry for love, not for political gain. The Blue Fairy had been unable to counteract the fast-moving sickness that had claimed the Queen's life so many years before, and took pity on her daughter. Her intervention brought possibly the most scandalous marriage in the history of the realm, but it was also the happiest: no one could ever recall a more radiant bride than Snow White, or a more charming and humbled groom than the shepherd David.

And their union brought into the world Princess Emma.


	4. The Princess and the Lost Ship

As she grew, Emma had the palace staff wrapped around her finger. Her doe-like hazel eyes could cause any cook or baker to surrender a snack. Her long blonde curls were often seen whipping around a corner as she raced away from her nursemaids, giggling, until she found her mother or father at some order of business and threw herself at them, demanding stories. The stable hands could hardly work with her underfoot, and many spent as much time teaching the young princess to properly ride her pony as they did mucking out stalls or exercising the grown horses. More than once she'd almost toppled out of the crenels on the walls, leaning far out with her tutor's stolen spyglass, scanning the mountains for movement, or watching the far-off seaport.

Emma only infected her siblings with mischief; her brother Leopold, barely a year her junior, was her cohort in crime. Foreign dignitaries often confused them for twins: both were towheaded and Emma's eyes were often mistaken for green. If they were nowhere else to be found in the palace, the servants would often discover them up a tree in the forest, reading passages from books to each other, eating stolen apples. Ruth, five years younger than Emma, and her mother in miniature, was a little more delicate than her siblings. She would not leave the palace grounds without permission, but any trouble that was to be caused within that space could be pinned to her. (The most memorable being the time all of the birds in the bird cote were set free; despite her mother's clear and dedicated affection for them, Ruth was of the mindset that animals were to be free to do as they wished) (Many of the birds came back on their own, but that didn't change Ruth's punishment, and she remained confined to her chambers for a week)

Emma was nineteen when word came that the _Jewel of the Realm_ returned to port. She insisted on accompanying her father to the seaport; she'd read of the lost ship in her lessons and wished to see for herself that the tales were true.

The journey took only half a day. Emma was loathe to be enclosed in a carriage for so long; with a squad of their finest knights, she and King David rode through the Royal Forest, talking and entertaining broad speculations about what mysteries they were about to unravel ahead. By the time the forest gave way to the salt marshes and then to the seaport itself, Emma almost bounced in her saddle, her excitement potable. "My dear, if you do not calm yourself you're going to irritate your horse," David said gently. "I don't know if I can get to you in time."

"Like you did with Mother," Emma smiled. The story of her parents meeting was one of her favorites growing up.

"I can't take my eyes from either of you around the horses, can I?"

"Papa…" Emma demurred, glancing down at her saddle horn.

One of the knights held up his hand, signaling a halt. Horses approached: the royal physicians had been dispatched immediately upon the announcement of the _Jewel's_ return, to inspect her occupants before the king and princess' arrival. They dismounted, and bowed shortly. "What news have you, Master Healer?" David asked.

"Your Majesty, Your Highness," the chief physician nodded to each of them in turn; they nodded back, "it is the most… astounding thing I have ever seen in all my years. The sailors manning the _Jewel of the Realm_ claim to be the same men who vanished on her two hundred years ago. And by their descriptions and mannerisms of the time, not to mention the exact matches to personal descriptions of the missing crew that Their Majesties were wise to send with us… I must believe they are telling the truth."

Emma looked from her father to the physician. "Well naturally, that's why we came to see for ourselves, is it not?"

"The _Jewel_ herself is in impeccable condition, sire, and not being a shipwright I cannot tell you exactly how many storms she has weathered, but many of the ornaments and designs appear to be much outdated by our current standards," the younger physician chimed in.

David nodded. "Thank you. Is it safe to approach?"

"The crew have turned in, sire, they say they wish to sleep in real beds. But the ship is safe to inspect."

He nodded, and kicked his horse into a trot, riding for the docks. Emma followed. "Papa, you aren't telling me something," she said quietly. "You have been acting like it's to be expected that the exact ship and crew would return, but the Master Healer seems to think otherwise."

Her father spoke low, so only she could hear. "It's not something that is widely known, daughter, and I wished to not cause alarm. Your many times great-grandfather sent the _Jewel _on a mission to find a plant. He claimed this plant would cure diseases and spread peace and prosperity across the land; in reality, the plant was a deadly poison, and he planned to use it against his enemies. All of this is recorded in that king's personal diaries, and we keep them from public record so as not to shame his legacy or cast doubt on our family."

"How barbaric," she murmured.

"Indeed."

"But how does this explain the _Jewel's_ return?"

David's mouth set in a grim line. "The plant's location was Neverland."

Emma breathed out, looking towards the ship looming ahead. Backlit by the setting sun, it was quite a dramatic picture. Fitting, for what was surely to become a dramatic tale in the years to come. _Neverland…_

Emma and her father dismounted. There were squires to hold their horses' reins, and the princess hiked up the tails of her long riding jacket so as not to tread on them as they climbed up the gangplank. On board, she gazed around with mild wonder. There was the Pegasus sail, its feathers obviously standing out from where it was furled. She walked the length of the rail to the bow, lightly dragging her hand along it; born of true love, Emma possessed some degree of magic, and was able to sense magic in others. "This is enchanted wood," she announced.

"Aye, she is," an unfamiliar voice said. "She's performed good service to us over the years. The _Jewel_ takes care of her own."

Emma whirled. Two men in uniform stood at attention. She frowned, observing them. They were obviously related, the same bright blue eyes with mischievous twinkles, the same nose.

_The younger man was tied to a tree, dressed in clothes little better than rags. She walked away with purpose, hoping to break him first. "Good for you! You bested me. I can count the amount of people who've done that on one hand."_

_She hid a triumphant smirk; it would only make him think she would play nice. She had no intention of it, not today. She had to get back home, no matter what the cost. "That supposed to be funny? Who are you?"_

She started. She'd never had visions before. Emma wondered where it could have come from, but realized she had yet to say anything to the men before her. She'd seen their portraits in her books; the older man had been in his early thirties when they'd vanished, the younger mid-twenties. And while physically they appeared to be not a day older than when they'd disappeared, they were older somehow—it was the way they carried themselves. They held years within them. "Have I the great honor to address Captain Liam Jones and his Lieutenant and brother, Killian Jones?"

The captain bowed shortly, the lieutenant a beat behind him. "We are at your service. May we ask your name, gracious lady?" Where his elder brother's voice was confident and reassuring, the voice one expected a good commander to have, Lieutenant Jones's voice was quiet, a bit harsher: the voice of a man who spent his time shouting orders and resting it whenever possible.

David came up the stairs, and stood next to his daughter before she could respond. "Captain. Lieutenant. I was told the crew was taking their leave on shore."

The men looked from the king to the princess, eyes widening slightly at the same time, and dropped to one knee before them, bowing their heads. Emma inhaled sharply. "Your Majesties. Forgive our lack of decorum and respect to your gracious selves," Captain Jones said.

The king chuckled. "You've been away for many years. I would expect no less. Rise, please, your formality is unnerving my daughter."

Emma pursed her lips. "We were having a nice talk before you went all noble."

The lieutenant met her eyes briefly before hastily glancing down at his shoes. She was amused to see the blush stain his cheeks. "Accept our sincerest apologies, princess," he murmured.

"Please, Lieutenant. It's Emma," she instructed kindly.

He glanced up at her again, and away. Emma caught the knowing look the captain gave his brother. "It felt odd, Your Majesty," Captain Jones explained, "going ashore to a proper bed. More than anyone in our faithful crew, my brother and I consider the _Jewel_ our home. We could not rest easy unless we were with her."

The king nodded. "Far be it from us to disturb you. My daughter and I will leave you to your rest. We would appreciate an audience with you and your crew tomorrow afternoon."

"Of course, sire," Captain Jones inclined his head, his brother following his lead.

Her father offered his arm. Emma threaded her hand through, and they went to descend the gangplank. She looked back once; the lieutenant was watching them go.

* * *

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	5. The Ball

A month passed, and a ball was held. Longnight celebrations were to begin with it, and the Queen was also using the event as an excuse to officially commemorate the return of the lost ship and her crew; it also tripled as a celebration in honor of the promotions the King and Queen bestowed upon the Jones brothers and their crew. Queen Snow had been moved by the tale: their wish not to allow such a deadly poison be set loose on unsuspecting people, and the sacrifice of their previous lives in the Enchanted Forest to find a cure for their captain.

Emma breezed into her sister's chambers, dressed for the ball in a rose-colored silk gown with silver embroidery that winked in the candlelight. Ruth was sitting in front of her vanity, her maid putting the final touches on her hair; with her coming-of-age the previous year, she was permitted to wear her hair up on formal occasions. Emma smiled at her sister's reflection, and nodded to the maid to leave them when she was finished. "You look lovely, Ruthie," she told her, going to the vanity and opening the jewelry box.

"Mother won't allow me to wear face paint," Ruth complained.

Emma brought out the tiara: it had once been her grandmother's, passed to her mother at her coming of age, and then to her; now it belonged to Ruth. She slid the ends through the intricate hairstyle, settling it comfortably, and reached for several pins to keep it in place. "You're a bit young for face paint just yet, Ruthie," she told her, sliding the pins into place.

Ruth winced, the pins likely scraping her scalp. "It's not fair. _You_ got to wear face paint when _you_ were fourteen."

Emma's eyebrow ticked up in amused exasperation; she had sneaked lip paint _once_, to a formal dinner with the Prince and Princess from the kingdom of Midas, and gotten into a huge amount of trouble over it. Ruth had been nine, and had been neck-deep in her plans to free every animal in the palace, oblivious to everything else. She picked up the necklace that went with Ruth's mint-colored gown, and went behind her to drape it around her neck. "That's because I'm uglier than you," she said wryly. "I needed all the help I could get. You, sister dear, and Mother are the same." She rested her hands on Ruth's shoulders, bending down so their faces were next to each other in the mirror: her sharply angled, artfully made up face against her sister's soft features, innocent without the use of the paints. "Mother knows there's no need to heighten perfection."

Ruth scrunched up her nose, making a face and ruining the moment. Emma giggled and stood straight. "Just think, next year you'll be able to wear earbobs."

Her sister shuddered as she got to her feet; she was desperately afraid of anything sharp and pointy coming near her, even embroidery needles. "No, thank you. I'll pass."

There was a knock at the door before it opened. Leopold stood there, his appearance quite smart in his red and black coat and tails, his red waistcoat heavily embroidered with gold. "What's Ruthie passing on now?" Leo asked.

"Earbobs. Ghastly things," she responded. "Why do you two always get to match one another, and I'm left looking like the adopted cowherd?"

Emma and Leo exchanged a glance. "Father's attire is dark green tonight, you'll get to match him," Leo explained. "And with Mother in white, we'll all be a fantastic representation of Longnight colors. It will be brilliant."

"Mother is _always_ in white," Ruth grumbled.

Emma hid a smile behind her rose-gloved hand. Leo offered his arm to Ruth with a flourish. "May I have the honor of escorting Her Most Serene Highness, Princess Ruth to the Longnight-slash-commemoration-slash-military-honors ball?"

She took it with a curtsey. "We really should have decided on a simpler name for it," she said as they left her chambers, Emma three steps behind. "Imagine the wasted ink on all of the invitations."

They met with their parents outside of the announcement chamber; the chatter from inside said that the informal introductions had been made, and that everyone was waiting for the royal family's entrance. Snow fussed over her children, making imaginary fixes of jewelry and tassels and skirts. Her eyes were bright. "Oh, when did my little ones get so grown up?"

Emma straightened her mother's crown as Leo took her hand and squeezed it. "Around the same time you got so old, Mother."

She gasped, mock indignant, while his sisters hid giggles. Snow reached to wallop her son around the ears as he ducked out of her reaches, laughing. "You are too much like your father, you little vagrant!"

"Kindly leave me out of this, my dear," David sighed.

"Apologies, Mother, you're still the fairest of them all, I promise!"

Snow made a rude noise, and tugged on his ear. "See if you are allowed to skip out on dancing with all of the matrons tonight."

Leo looked stricken. "Mother!"

"You can't charm your way out of this one, little brother," Emma teased.

David cleared his throat, and said to the grand marshal, "If you would please announce us, so that my family might pretend they have manners for a few moments."

The marshal, used to these sorts of things, bowed. "Of course, Your Majesty."

He threw open the doors, and tapped his metal-shod staff on the flagstones for attention. "Her Royal Majesty the Queen, Snow White, and His Royal Majesty the King, David. Her Royal Highness, the Crown Princess Emma. His Royal Highness Prince Leopold. Her Royal Highness Princess Ruth."

The crowd stood at polite attention, bowing or curtseying as the family swept past to the raised dais at the other end of the room. Emma spread her skirts around her as she took a seat on the small chair that was hers; her parents presided on thrones on the next step up, while she occupied the middle stair alone. Leo and Ruth sat in their chairs on the bottom of the platform. Emma held in a sigh; at least Ruth and Leo had each other to entertain themselves while they endured the task of receiving guests. She would have to keep a stiff upper lip until she wanted to cry from boredom.

After twenty minutes, one of the servants brought her a cup of wine, which helped. Watching Ruth make a face at her watered-down wine helped further. Leo caught her eye and winked, taking their sister's cup from her and passing it off to another servant with a whisper in the man's ear. He returned shortly with fruit juice, to Ruth's grateful smile. Emma smiled into her cup, and turned her attention back to the line of guests.

The Jones brothers stepped forward, bowing low. "Admiral Jones. Commodore Jones. Our joy to have you returned safe and whole from your long and perilous journey is immeasurable," Snow said, her kind voice carrying. "How are you finding the celebrations?"

"Refreshing, Your Majesty," the newly-appointed admiral responded, "if a bit overwhelming. We tell ourselves it is for the holiday and for our men, who truly did the hard work on our journey, not for the likes of us."

Snow smiled. "And you, Commodore?"

"I am humbled. You are as kind as you are beautiful, my queen," Commodore Jones bowed again, his hand over his heart. Emma glanced back at her mother in time to see her shoot a triumphant look at her son. Leo's expression was priceless.

"You are a master at flattery, Commodore," David said, light annoyance laced in his words. "I shall pray that not many of our ladies leave this evening with broken hearts."

Emma saw a quick smirk pass across the commodore's face. "I shall endeavor not to, Your Majesty."

She must have slipped into a doze, because the rest of the procession seemed to end much quicker than she thought. Leo's face was innocent when he swore she hadn't fallen asleep; Ruth, who couldn't lie to save her life, only blinked innocuously when asked.

There was almost as long a line of young men waiting to claim a dance from her. Emma thought wistfully of the trays of food around the room, and banished all of said thoughts from her mind. Duty called. Happily, many of the men were old friends, not potential suitors. She mentally kept track of who she danced with and how many times, who she declined and why (occasionally because her feet hurt, mostly because she was starving and needed to secure food from a tray).

One waltz saw her paired with Admiral Jones. For a man who had only a few weeks to recall his land legs and learn the newer dances, he was a surprisingly good partner. She kept the conversation light, inquiring about his plans now that he was home. He seemed most interested in returning to sea as soon as he could, which perplexed her. It made sense, in a way, but after so much time stuck abroad, wouldn't he want some time away? "It takes an odd man to become a sailor, highness," the admiral explained when she inquired. "We feel the call of the sea in our bones, and to resist makes them turn to dust."

She pursed her lips, thinking. Admiral Jones smiled. "You have a lovely thinking face, highness, if you will pardon my forwardness."

"Not at all, admiral. Thank you," she murmured. "Oh, look. Your brother has claimed a dance with my sister."

Commodore Jones laughed at something Ruth said; Emma wondered what pert thing she had said this time as the admiral knelt and she stepped around him. When the waltz ended, the admiral bowed, and claimed a kiss on the back of her hand. "I envy your future husband, princess. Thank you for the dance."

Emma stared after him, puzzled, when his younger brother came before her, bowing and offering his hand with a flourish. "Your Highness, may I have this dance?"

_Her dress was squeezing her uncomfortably, but she didn't care. The most intricate, most __**intimate**__, dance was taking place before her. The participants moved in sync, casting a lovely illusion of perfection. "What am I supposed to do?" Her voice was faint, panic threatening to take hold, the entire operation about to fall to pieces._

_He was leading her to the floor. "Blend in," he told her calmly._

_"Wait…" This was news. Startling, __**hilarious**__ news. "Are you saying you know how to do… whatever… this is?"_

_He positioned her hands on him; the intensity in the way he regarded her with pure affection was almost unbearable. "It's called a waltz," he explained, placing her hand in his wooden one. "There's only one rule: pick a partner who knows what he's doing."_

"Commodore Jones," she observed, startled by both his appearance and the vision. "Yes, I'm sorry, of course."

That was the second vision in as many months, each brought about by the handsome man before her. This had been longer than the first one, much more vividly detailed: the strains of the waltz echoed in her mind, the scent of foreign candles and foods fresh as if she were there. And the man, twin to the one before her and yet… her heart was pained, like she'd lost… something. This was something to contemplate.

* * *

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	6. The Visions

"You appear to have come out of your shell, Commodore," Emma told him as she curtseyed.

He took one hand in his, placing the other on her waist as she grasped his shoulder. "Forgive me, princess. Long had it been since I last lay eyes on one so fair, and my clumsy tongue would not agree with me."

Emma smiled, looking down as they began the steps. "I believe I told you to call me Emma. Your brother would care to remember that as well."

"My dear brother is a fine commanding officer, but it is often my duty to remind him of propriety, high—Emma," Commodore Jones corrected himself. "Two centuries in a far-off land only made him worse, I'm afraid."

"You must be glad to be home, Commodore."

"It is… different. Unexpected, but not altogether unpleasant. And I must insist: if I am to be on familiar terms with you, then you must do the same with me. Killian will do," he said, his grin infectious.

_A rose, as red as her favorite jacket, in a hand that wasn't supposed to be there. "What do I call you now, Captain Hand?"_

_He grinned, a bit exasperatedly. "Killian will do."_

Emma squeezed her eyes closed, giving her head a little shake. The commodore watched her worriedly. "Emma?"

"Sorry, it's… My apologies, Killian. I felt a bit dizzy just then." She couldn't very well say she was having visions, could she? Only Seers and prophets had those. She may have had some magic, but she was no sorceress, just a hedgewitch at best.

"Do you need to rest?"

"No… No, it's fine," she said, grinning to prove it.

He still looked concerned, but said no more about the matter. When their dance finished, he insisted on escorting her to her chair, and brought her refreshments. Her mother left a dance with an ambassador to check on her. "Sweetheart, are you all right?"

"I just felt a bit dizzy, Mother, I'll be fine," Emma tried to wave her off, embarrassed by the fuss. "Commodore Jones has been caring for me."

Snow glanced at the officer. "Has he?" She murmured thoughtfully. "Well… I suppose if everything is in hand…"

"Go on, Mother. A few minutes rest and I'll be ready to waltz until dawn."

Snow smiled, and left them, looking back only once. The commodore bent closer to her ear, offering the tray he held. "Waltz until dawn?" He murmured.

Emma was horrified to realize she was blushing. She _never_ blushed! "You know what I mean," she muttered, taking a fig and snapping it in half, popping it and a cheese square in her mouth.

"All I ask, princess, is that you alert me to your plans of 'waltzing until dawn'," he told her. "As it is, I fear to take my eyes from you, else you find yourself growing dizzy in a less accommodating man's arms."

Her head snapped up, incredulous, but the grin told her he was teasing. "Oh, I see how it is," she taunted. "You're not a naval officer at all. Just some pirate who has found his treasure and is hoarding it away from everyone else."

Commodore Jones stared, bewildered by her, and she began to laugh. A moment later, he was laughing with her.

* * *

The cold had driven everyone inside. A fire crackled merrily in her bedchamber, causing the glass windows to fog. Ruth was laying on her bed, absently turning pages in one of her books. Emma set her quill down at the fifteenth exaggerated sigh. "Yes, Ruthie, how may I be of service?" She asked, turning in her seat.

Ruth rolled over, staring at the ceiling. "I'm _bored_, and you're writing another letter to your _suitor_."

Her cheeks felt warm. "Commodore Jones is not my suitor, Ruthie. We're friends."

"Right, and I'm the Blue Fairy."

Emma turned back to her letter. "Don't let her hear you say that," she murmured, dipping her quill in her inkwell again. "She can have a bit of a nasty streak."

"Can't we go sledding or something?"

"It's cold out, and besides it hasn't snowed enough for that, sister dear."

"Em-_ma_."

"_Ru-uth_."

Ruth grumbled, and Emma heard pages turning again. "Ice skating?"

Emma counted to ten, calming herself, before responding. "If you let me finish this and send it off, we can go ice skating. But just for a little while, neither one of us can afford to fall ill."

Her sister's excited squeal made her feel bad for feeling cross. She finished quickly, so distracted by her guilt that she didn't even notice she signed the letter with "Love, Emma" before sealing it and leaving it for a servant to take.

* * *

Months passed. Emma and the commodore exchanged letters when they could; he was kept busy with his new command, and was often at sea. Her slip with the word 'love' appeared to go unnoticed, but gradually, their letters grew more familiar, the occasional tender turn of phrase put to parchment.

Without quite meaning to, they fell in love. When his ship was a month late returning to port, the sickness Emma felt whenever there was no word of the _Jewel's_ return was almost overpowering. And when it was compared to the flood of relief and joy when the _Jewel's_ crew returned to the palace for debriefing? Her emotions were palpable. She happened to be coming down the stairs to find her brother when the doors at the entrance opened, and he walked in. Emma froze just at the bottom of the staircase. Killian seemed to stiffen slightly at the sight of her, and then she was rushing across the entryway at him, throwing herself into his arms. He held her tightly, spinning her around in a circle. She pulled away, with some regret, but when their eyes met, they seemed to be drawn together by some unseen force, the meeting of their lips sending a jolt of electricity through her.

Of course, witnessed by half of his men as well as ten palace guards, their dalliance was not at all kept secret; and within a day she was sitting before her parents, for the entire world a child still, being scolded for not grooming her horse properly. David was fuming, but Snow looked from Emma to Killian for several long minutes before she rested her hand on her husband's. "Charming," she said, using her private nickname for him. "Look at them. Can't you see it?"

David was trying to calm himself. "See what, Snow? I see two foolish young people without regard for what—"

"Charming, you're being my father," Snow scolded, and Emma was surprised to hear this. She hardly remembered her grandfather; he had died when she was very young. But Snow had always spoken kindly of her father; to hear that he may have behaved similarly was news indeed. "Remember? When I pleaded with the Blue Fairy to have him agree to our marriage?"

This was also news, and Emma held her breath, fearing if she moved even a little the moment would break. David's shoulders slumped. "Of course I do… You were a princess and you wanted to marry a shepherd."

Snow nodded. "It was unheard of, but the Blue Fairy saw our true love and convinced my father that such a union would bring more goodness to our kingdom than any political alliance. And look at us now. We have been at peace with our neighbors for almost two decades. We have three beautiful, wonderful, _magical_ children. We have everything we could ever desire and more than we could ever want, and I believe it's because of our love, David. We have stood together, side by side, for most of our lives, and all of this goodness has come from that. Now, look at them, and tell me you do not see the same potential."

Emma and Killian traded glances, obvious surprise written on both of them. David regarded the both of them for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he nodded.

* * *

In all her life, Emma had not expected to be married at twenty-one and a mother at twenty-two, but reality had a way of warping expectations. She could not remember being happier in her life, and she had never wanted for anything in all her days. On the rainiest days, he filled her life with sunshine and warmth. Their daughter Elizabeth, named for his beloved mother, was every bit the terror she had been as a child. When she was old enough, she was often found in the gardens, digging up worms and ruining her dresses.

_A little girl coated in mud with her face, but his hair and eyes, proudly held up her prize: a frog, which gave an indignant croak and tried to escape. "Lizzie got a froggie, Mama!"_

_A young man as gangly as she at that age, also covered in mud, was sheepish. "Sorry, Mom. I tried to keep her out of it." _

That vision came after she joked about dressing her in peasant clothing to save on tailoring. The girl was undoubtedly her daughter, but who was the young man?

When their son, David, was born, Emma hoped the visions would stop. Everything she had seen had now come to pass: Killian was her husband, and she'd borne him two children, a girl and a boy. They were the entire contents of her visions, though set in some strange land, if the attire was to say anything for it.

However, the visions only grew more frequent over time. She would be playing with her children when the images of the boy would appear; as David grew, she realized the boy in the vision was most certainly not her son. David was as fair as the vision was not, and their eyes were different. Some days she spent hours poring over her own records of her apparitions, trying to piece together why she received them still. Some mornings she would awaken and reach out for her husband, making sure he was still sleeping soundly beside her—she had dreamed so realistically that he had been gone, died of a magic spell unheard of in their kingdom for centuries.

Some days she felt parts of her were missing; she'd reach for a necklace she'd never owned, call out to a child she'd never borne. "Henry…" She mumbled one afternoon, staring out a window at the sudden winter storm that had befallen them. One of her husband's cats was napping on the windowsill; Emma absently petted it, crotchety thing though it was. "His name was… is… Henry…"

"My love?" Killian came up behind her, holding her.

She leaned into his embrace, praying his presence would provide her with all the comfort she would ever desire. "Killian, I do not understand… Why do I dream of this child?" She had long ago confessed to her visions, and he had accepted them as part of her. "I feel as if there is an entire life I have left behind, but how…"

"He is your child, Emma."

Killian's voice was different. "Killian?" Emma turned, confused, and saw a man she recognized as if from a dream. The face, the wispy, graying brown hair. She screamed and shoved him away. "Who are you?! Where is my husband, how did you get in here?!"

Emma hugged herself tight. This was another dream, it had to be. Killian would reappear in a moment, and wonder why she had gone mad. "This is an illusion, Emma," the man—_the author_, her mind supplied—said, not unkindly. "I have allowed you to see your life as it could be, but I am afraid you have decided it's time to wake up and return to reality."

"My life as it could be? You mean my life as it _is_!" She couldn't remember a time she'd felt more confused.

"The life you would have lived, had the curse not been enacted. Wake up, Emma."

"What _curse_? What sorcery is this?!" She shouted as the room faded into nothingness.

The author regarded her sadly. "Only the sorcery you asked for, my child. Your magic is strong, to have broken through the illusion so often. So many memories of another life… you truly are my most magnificent creation."

"What are you _talking_ about?!" Emma cried, falling to her knees, holding herself still, landing on solid nothing. "What _other_ life?! _This_ is my life! Take me home; take me to my husband and children, my family!"

"I said, it's time to _wake up_, Emma."

* * *

**Reviews are always appreciated.**


	7. The Choice

She gasped, and she was in her normal clothes, her jeans and her worn red jacket. Killian's rings hung heavy around her throat, Graham's shoelaces tight around her wrist. The illusion faded into a haze in her mind, a dream she couldn't quite remember having. She was sitting in an old man's living room, between her mother and her son. Outside, the storm rumbled on. "What did you do?" she demanded shakily.

"I showed you the life you might have lived, had Rumpelstiltskin made a different choice. Had many different choices been made," Yen Sid said.

"I ran away… my mother didn't kill Daniel, she sent him away, she didn't have magic…" Regina murmured.

"And you met me," Robin said. He thumbed her chin, a gentle smile on his face. "And became queen of the forest."

Belle looked away. "I used a magic bean to escape my father's cage," her voice trembled. "I found Rumple and Bae in London… we married… lived our days running a shop with our children, until Baelfire went off to war… he never was the same after that, but he was so good with his younger siblings…"

Emma looked expectantly at her parents. "David saved me from my horse, not Regina," Mary Margaret said wistfully, "and we fell in love, we had Emma…"

"And somehow our son was named Leopold," David countered.

Mary Margaret smiled mischievously. "_And_ another daughter…"

The illusion provided their faces in Emma's mind: the brother who could have been her twin, and the sister who was clearly their mother's daughter. "I had a family… Leo and Ruth… and…" She clenched her jaw, shoving aside the fresh bout of hurt that bloomed from losing him again.

"Why taunt us with the happy endings you never intended to give us?" Regina demanded.

Emma's words came more to the point. "Why bother to bring us out of it at all? Why not just rewrite our lives as you want?"

The author regarded her over his folded hands. "That, my children, is a question only you can answer."

She frowned. What had triggered their return? The end… She'd been with him, and… Henry's arm returned to her shoulders. "Mom?"

She turned her head. Henry. Henry, her child with Neal, who had his eyes, his hair, his voice… Neal, who had been Baelfire, once upon a time… "Henry," Emma whispered; she heard Regina suck in a breath across the room, understanding. He watched her warily. "Henry, when we were under the spell, what happened to you?"

He shrugged, shaking his head. "Nothing. It was only for a few seconds. You guys all got really quiet, kinda zoned-out for a bit and then you were just back to normal, like you'd had some kind of seizure."

"You were here? The whole time?"

"Yeah," Henry said. "Why, what's going on?"

Emma turned, wide-eyed, to Yen Sid. "Henry. Henry was why. The first time I… the other me, had a vision. Of the time I—we—almost left Killian to the ogres. And all I wanted to do was get back to someone, but the other me didn't know who that was. And she saw Henry and Elizabeth, that time Elizabeth caught a frog and they both were so muddy, I didn't know what to do with them…" She smiled sadly for a brief moment at the memory, the shock of seeing her sixteen-year old and three-year old similarly coated in mud, one full of glee and the other sheepishly proud of himself. "And the other me kept having visions after she had children, like she knew something was missing… someone was missing. And that was Henry."

Regina put her head in her hands. "Of course… Henry… and Roland would never have been born either…"

"A mother's love is magic even I am unable to contain," Yen Sid said quietly. "And your love for your sons combined could not be fully encased within my spell.

"And so now you have a choice."

"What?" Several voices echoed.

He held out both of his hands. Two pages of the storybook appeared. One showed Rumpelstiltskin as the portal closed behind Baelfire. The other showed Rumple and Bae in a shop together, obviously not in the Enchanted Forest. "Two paths. Stay the course you have been given, and look elsewhere for the key to bringing down the Dark One, or rewrite centuries of work and achieve your happy endings on another path."

Mary Margaret made a noise of distress. Regina was on her feet in an instant. "But we'd be choosing our happiness over the very lives of Henry and Roland," she protested. "Not to mention countless others who have been born since…"

"Yes."

"But why?!"

"These are the paths. The story can only go so many ways."

Emma felt sick. She'd lost too many people she loved at this point to lose another. Yen Sid must have noticed the look on her face. "You will not remember him, Emma," he said in a voice that may have been kind, but cut like a knife. "This is a revision. And the original work never survives a rewrite. You will not miss someone you never knew."

Mary Margaret was clutching her hand so hard Emma thought it might break. Her blood roared in her ears as she looked at her son, her savior so many times over. He'd brought her to Storybrooke, brought her home to bring the happy endings back. He'd been there for her so often, so much more than anyone else: their year in New York; the time he'd tried to help her control her magic; every time he'd consoled her when people she cared about, people she _loved_, died; he'd been the first person she told about Elizabeth.

Was this the only way to truly bring back the happy endings? Did she have to sacrifice her only son to fully bring back everyone's happiness? Henry, to his credit, was putting on a brave face. "It's okay, Mom… I mean, it can't hurt, can it? I won't even know I wasn't born…"

"Henry, no," she breathed, her heart breaking more with each passing second, but he was shaking his head.

"Maybe this is my destiny. You know I've always wanted to be a true hero. And a true hero never gives up, is never afraid to sacrifice for the greater good. Maybe I'm the final key to bringing back the happy endings—after all, I came from you, right?" He asked with a shaky smile.

Her heart was in pieces. Crushed, like Killian's, all those years ago. "No. Heroes always win, remember? And this isn't winning. Dying isn't winning, Henry, you can't do anything if you're dead. Your destiny is somewhere else, you're only seventeen, there's so much more time left for you to figure out your destiny."

"If I never existed, it's not like I could die, right?" He asked, looking at the author, who nodded.

"NO!" Two voices screamed: Emma and Regina.

She wanted to scream, to hold her son and protect him, but she knew he was almost a grown man, had always been so grown up, capable of making his own decisions. But she was his mother. She _and_ Regina were his mothers. And they got to tell him when his decisions were stupid, costly, and out of the question.

Furious at him for making her son even consider such a thing, Emma got to her feet, and rounded on the author. She jabbed him in the chest with a finger that shook. "If there are only two ways you can see your story going, then you suck as a writer. And I kinda already think you do, because only horrible authors keep destroying their creations."

"Emma—"

Regina's voice was hard. "What about the page from the book that Robin found? Showing a different choice I made? Were there only two choices there? Go into the bar or not? Talk to Robin or don't? What if I'd talked to him and he wasn't interested? What if he had already met Marian? If the stories of our lives twist and turn and the slightest ripple can cause so much change, why do you insist on only two options for us to choose from?"

"_BECAUSE IT IS HARD!_" Yen Sid roared. Emma took a step back. He began to pace again. "Navigating the lives of so many deeply complex people! Breaking them down, watching how tragedy shapes them, how their strengths form from it… You asked me why I cast you aside, and I say to you that I did not. Instead, I gave you most of the control. I could make an occasional suggestion, but your choices were entirely your own. Free will rules all. Here, in the land without magic, you _brought_ magic. _You_ changed the rules, not I. In the Enchanted Forest, life is straightforward. There are good and bad people, heroes and villains, but here, people are gray. And I wanted to see how such people, faced with gray morality, would react. Some of you flourished," he nodded to Regina. "You realized that you were capable of so much more, that you needed so much more, and you found within yourself the ability to cast aside your past and go far beyond what I could have imagined.

"Others fell," he nodded to Mary Margaret, who looked down. "And this was not a terrible thing. Because while you may have fallen, you also _learned_. You, Snow White, who were so pure of heart and yet still could cause pain, learned not only to be better, but also fair and just and understanding. Open to so much more, realizing that mistakes could be made without destroying someone's life. Learning how to make amends."

"Then why me?" Emma ground out. "The Savior. Bringing back memories, the happy endings, only to lose mine. Why did _my _villain—whose heart I saw _moments_ before it was crushed, and it was _red_ and _bright_—not get his happy ending?" Why else had he given her Killian in the illusion, if not to taunt her with the happy ending she would never have?

"Every great story needs a hero, Emma Swan. And life is not fair to the hero."

"BULLSHIT!" She yelled, driving her fingers hard against his chest. "That is _bullshit_ and you know it! You are a lazy writer, causing conflict when you can't think of anything else to do! You could have ended stories and moved to new ones, leaving the characters happily ever after and _leaving them the hell alone_!"

Yen Sid grew quiet. "What would you have me do then? What is your choice?"

She stared. She'd never been angrier in her life, but it was cold fury. After all of this, he still put the decision down to her. But Emma Swan had made her decision long ago. She reached back. After a moment, Henry took it. "I choose Henry. I choose Roland, and my parents. My little brother, named for a man who didn't deserve to die but did it to save us all. My daughter, who loves a father she's never known. I choose Regina and Belle and Robin, and Dopey, Sneezy, Happy, hell, I even choose Grumpy, pain in the ass that he is.

"But I choose Killian too. And I choose a happy ending for Belle: I choose Gold. All of this?" Emma gestured out the window, where the purple storm raged on. "This isn't a path to a happy ending. This path only leads to heartbreak; it's _made_ of it. We have _tried_. And we have _failed_, until now. We came to you to fix it, not to kill him. Because somehow, after everything we've been through, Belle still loves him. She sees the good that's still somewhere inside of him. She thinks it's why we aren't all dead—and I think I agree with her."

Emma stepped even closer, dragging Henry up to stand with her. "I'm the Savior. You said so earlier, you made me this way. So when I tell you that I think your choices suck, think about where that's coming from: somewhere inside of you.

"A long time ago, you got in over your head, and you made me. You wanted _me_ to tell you where to go next. So here I am. It's wrapped neatly in a bow. I choose us. _All_ of us. You made a mistake somewhere, and you need to find a way to fix it."

Yen Sid's face exposed no emotion. The standoff was tense as they stared each other down. Finally, Yen Sid glanced at Henry, and then back at her. His voice was quiet when he asked, "How do you suggest I correct my mistake?"

Emma shrugged. "I don't know. You're the writer. You figure it out."

* * *

**Reviews are always appreciated.**


	8. The Conclusion

Emma woke up in her bed. She blinked several times in the morning light, feeling disoriented. The distant ocean waves were crashing against the shore, the day's heat already warming the room; it held the promise of a lazy summer day. She sat up, the sheets sliding off of her naked torso. "Love?" A male voice murmured tiredly next to her.

The bed dipped as he shifted. She couldn't remember the dream she'd been having. It had felt so long… She shook her head. "Sorry. Weird dream, I think."

He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close, his nose squashed against her thigh as he kissed her. "Come back to bed then, darling," he said.

Emma smiled, and shifted down, his arm moving up to accommodate her and settling around her again. "We_ will_ have to leave the bedroom eventually, Killian."

"Not bloody likely."

She chuckled. "Tell that to—"

"MAMA! DADA!" A girl's voice shrieked, the sound followed by tiny fists banging on the door.

"Sorry, Mom, I'll take her downstairs!" Henry's voice called from his room down the hall.

"—the kids," Emma finished.

Killian rested his forehead against hers, and kissed her softly; nibbling at her lips and making her seriously reconsider ever leaving their room again. "Fine," he grumbled when they parted, "if we must heed the beck and call of our dependents."

Emma watched him get up and throw a shirt and shorts on. He opened the door, and Elizabeth immediately latched onto his leg, babbling about "Oh-ees" for breakfast. He threw a grin over his shoulder at her, and lumbered down the hall, toddler in tow and all. As Emma put on something decent, she wondered at the wistful pull in her heart. She glanced around the room, thinking something was missing, or that she was forgetting some chore, but the room was as orderly as usual: Killian's books stacked in their shelves, the cats ignoring everyone and sleeping the morning away on the windowsill, her pistol case securely locked. She shook her head, and went to join her family for breakfast.

* * *

Aurora had promised to babysit Elizabeth that day, so after Henry went off to meet his friends, Emma and Killian walked with her downtown; Elizabeth was between her parents, holding their hands, babbling about what she and 'Ilip' were going to do that day while her parents were at work. Every so often, they'd swing her high in the air between them, her shrieks and giggles contagious; passersby looked on the little family with kindness.

They were to meet Aurora at Granny's; Mary Margaret was there. "Mom, I thought you had—" Emma started, and paused when Mary Margaret turned around, puzzled. "Who is…"

She held a baby. Neal was banging on the counter, marking it up with crayons. "Up! Up!" Elizabeth demanded, wanting to join her uncle.

Emma lifted her up, sitting her on the stool next to him. "Play nice," she said, just as Killian was looking over the baby.

"Swan, look, your sister finally takes a shine to me," he said, grinning as her tiny hand clasped around one of his fingers.

It was like part of her brain realigned. Of course she had a sister. Why wouldn't she have a sister? "That's because she doesn't know yet that she has to trust her first instincts," she teased. "How's Ruth doing, Mom?"

"I think there's a light at the end of the tunnel," Mary Margaret said with a grateful sigh. She looked tired, and no wonder; Ruth was colicky. Emma smiled and took over for her, cooing baby nonsense. "She didn't cry nearly as much yesterday, and slept a lot last night."

The bell over the door rang. Emma tensed up when she saw Gold, but her guard was thrown when she saw he held it for a _very_ pregnant Belle. Gold looked happier than she'd ever—no. That wasn't right. Ever since Gold and Belle had married, after the second curse, after he'd almost been broken from Zelena's control over him and Belle's kiss of true love had freed him from the dagger. Another part of her brain felt realigned. Gold was no longer the Dark One, content to live out his days with his beloved. She knew that.

Killian noticed the way she stared. "Lass, what is it?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. It's nothing, I'm fine."

* * *

The sun was going down, throwing splashes of orange and red over her office. Emma sighed, switching her computer off; it was time and past to go home. She swept her hair up into a ponytail and stretched. A knock at her door announced Henry. "Hey, kid," she grinned.

"Hi. Ready to go?" He asked, gesturing with the book in his hand.

She tilted her head, brow furrowed. "Hey. I haven't seen you with that in ages."

He looked down. "Oh. Yeah, well… I felt a little nostalgic. It's been a little dull, no monsters to fight the last few years. Been trying to figure out if there might be any more fairy tale mysteries for us to solve," Henry told her as she stood. "I was thinking about calling it 'Operation Viper'."

Emma slung an arm around him; he was taller than she was these days, something she was still adjusting to. "Speak for yourself, kid. I brought back all the happy endings, and that includes mine. Which is not to solve any more fairy tale mysteries."

Henry rolled his eyes. "Keep acting like it's not being all gross and in love with Killian."

Emma tugged on his ear; and where had that habit come from? She shook her head slightly to clear the thought—something she felt like she'd been doing all day and was getting really annoying. "Who says I can't have both? I think I deserve it."

He smiled. "You deserve to be happy," he agreed, stepping out of her hold and handing her the book. "Thank you, Mom."

Emma smiled warily, taking the storybook. "What's that for?"

"I just… I feel like I never say it enough, that's all. So thanks. For everything," he grinned.

She glanced down at the book, and back up at him. "Yeah, kid. No problem, really. Hey, go grab Killian, and we'll go pick up your sister, okay?"

He nodded, and left, calling to Killian that he was starving and it was time to go. She pursed her lips and frowned, looking at the book. She went to set it on her desk, to think about it tomorrow, when she noticed a folded piece of paper that hadn't been there a minute ago. Emma set the storybook down slowly, and took the paper: it was ripped on one edge, like it had been torn out of its book in a hurry. She opened it, and read:

_And __**we**__ all lived happily ever after._

_ -Thank you, Emma  
H.Y.S.M._

The heavy paper felt familiar. She looked at the book again; flipping it over, she opened just the back cover. The last page was missing. With trembling hands, she fit the torn page to the tattered edges perfectly. _H.Y.S.M_…. An old man's face swam in her mind, oval-shaped, with wispy gray-streaked brown hair: she suddenly knew why he'd seemed so familiar, the face from a life she no longer lived. "Henry?" Emma called. "Henry!"

As she left in search of her son, the page sealed itself into the book with a flash of golden magic. The cover closed. A swirl of twilight mist enclosed it, and the storybook vanished, leaving no trace that it had ever been there at all.

* * *

**And that's all she wrote. Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed it, please leave a review and let me know!**


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